


House Of Memories

by poetrydivided



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrydivided/pseuds/poetrydivided
Summary: the one based off of P!ATD's most emo-est song.





	House Of Memories

Camila is five when she first learns that love is a bad word.

It happens at the dining table, where she and her two dads are having dinner. It's merely 4 pm, but the blinds of each window are already down, the dining room lit only by a few candles and a weak chandelier. Due to the low light, the blood-red walls of the house are especially prominent, and for a moment, as her two dads are cutting their individual portions of steak, Camila is reminded of something.

"Dads?" She says. "Are you two in love?"

Both of her dads react in extraordinarily physical, different ways, though their main opinion is shared; Papa, with his thick mustache and heavy beard, his rough, calloused hands, his brooding brown eyes and his too-white teeth. Papa, with his 28 years of life and a stuffy Cuban accent. Papa, who looks like a young and up and coming rapper from Brooklyn, but has the personality of a puppy. Papa is usually the nicer over Dad.

Except, not this time.

His knife and fork scratch angrily against his plate, with such force it's as if on purpose. He stares at Camila coldly, jaw tutted.

"What did you just say?" And his voice isn't loud-isn't screaming or yelling or even mildly shouting. It's slow and dark and quiet, but sharp enough to cut through Camila like a blade.

Camila doesn't answer, suddenly shaking with fear. She looks over at Dad, as if silently begging for help with her eyes.

Dad is a bit older than Papa, but not so much that it ever estranges the two. He's a lot more pale, too- a perfect representation of a true Italian, with a sharp facial structure and dark green eyes. He's usually more distant with Camila, but not so much that she's ever doubted his love-(is that a bad word now?)

Until now, at least.

"Don't look at me like that, Karla," Dad shakes his head. "Answer your Papa. What did you just say?"

Camila clears her throat. "I was just-"

"Go to your room." Papa picks at some meat caught in his teeth, then folds his hands together.

"Papa, I didn't mean-"

"I don't care what your intentions were, Camila. You never use that word-in this house or anyone else's. Comprende?"

"I-" Camila begins to protest, but catches herself. "Si, Papa. Yo siento." She leaves her plate-food untouched- on the table, and quickly runs upstairs.

Once Camila's out of sight, Papa bangs his fist on the table.

"I told you we shouldn't have sent her to that school. They're corrupting her, that damn arts program-"

"Art has nothing to do with it and you know it, Jon." Dad moves to clear the table, gathering everyone's plates and silverware. "The vaccine's wearing off, that's all. We'll just call in the services and she'll forget this even happened."

"And you really think that'll work? Drugging up our kid?"

"She isn't our kid, Jonathan. She's an experiment, along with all the other millennials. We aren't her parents. She's our job."

Papa gives Dad a look.

"Yeah, well, I still care about her."

"As do I, but you're forgetting that all of this-" Dad waves his hands. "This, is to keep her safe. We're doing a good thing."

Papa considers this for a moment, then echoes solemnly: "We're doing a good thing,"

They never once spotted Camila hiding at the top of the stairs.

* * *

Lauren is fourteen when she realizes she isn't like other girls.

She understands that admiration is normal, that to appreciate someone's physical features is more than okay in this universe. That's what she's taught in school, anyway; that admiration is safe, but anything beyond it is unsteady ground.

Is that why she feels so weak around certain boys, certain girls? It doesn't happen often, just every once in a while when she becomes quite close with them. She's only ever felt this-this unnerving, shaky feeling, like she's going to lose her balance any second -around maybe three people in her entire fourteen years of life.

And each time, something always happened to them. Matty in grade five moved away before Lauren could even acknowledge her feelings for him-only realizing them when he was far gone. Then there was Lucy, Lauren's best friend up until just a few months ago. She's started hanging out with new people, people who don't approve of Lauren for whatever reason. This is what forced Lauren to find new friends.

And, as a result, she found Camila.

"Laur-" Camila gasps. "We're going-" Gasp. "To-" Gasp. "Get-" Gasp. "Caught-"

Lauren doesn't slow down, instead speeding up as she sees the bleachers. "Stop being a baby." Camila's hand is so sweaty in Lauren's she has to tighten her grip. Lauren would never let go if she could help it.

They charge under the bleachers, and the smell of skunk-whether it came from a plant or the actual animal, no one can be sure-is immediately too overwhelming for Camila. She quickly releases Lauren's hand and coughs, proceeding to cover her mouth and nose.

"Jesus," Camila coughs again, her voice muffled. "How do you stoners even stand this smell? I feel like I'm dumpster-diving."

Lauren's already lighting a pipe. "Didn't I just tell you to stop being a baby?"

Camila rolls her eyes, removing her hand from her face.

She takes the pipe from Lauren and says, "Is this good enough?" Then she takes her first ever hit, inhaling the dense smoke for what feels like a long time.

She launches into a coughing fit as soon as she's done.

Lauren giggles uncontrollably.

"Stop," Camila pouts. "You know it's my first time."

Lauren pouts herself, making a high-pitched sound and pinching Camila's chubby cheeks. "You's a babyyy."

Camila pulls away, scoffing, but Lauren takes a hold of her hand. "I'm kidding, now let a real pro try," She says, taking the pipe.

Her drag is much more professional and relaxed than Camila's nervous, rushed attempt. Camila watches Lauren intently, as if in a trance, studying the way she holds the smoke in her lungs, how her chin lifts as she does so, how her eyes water only slightly. And as she releases the smoke, it's like all the color in the world floods to her face; her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, even her nose. The autumn air mixes with the smoke, and carefully washes over both of the girls. Camila notices some of Lauren's hair is blown out of place, and she reaches over.

"What are you-?"

"Shh," Camila tells her, tucking the out-of-place hair back behind her ear. "There," She quickly retracts, and Lauren stares at her with an uneasy look. Her green eyes are suddenly darker, and perhaps it's just the pot making her anxious, but her cheeks are definitely whiter than before, all the color drained within three seconds.

"What is it?" Camila is genuinely confused. Is there something wrong with fixing someone's hair for them? She was just being nice.

Lauren stares at her for a moment, and she licks her lips in thought as if maybe the act will remind her of the right words to use. She studies Camila's features, how her nose is slanted and her eyes are wide and the brightest shade of brown she's ever seen; how her mouth is slightly open, revealing her somewhat crooked teeth; how her lips are quite full. For a second, she feels the desire to feel them on her own lips.

Lauren shakes her head and clears her throat. "No, no," She blinks a few times, rapidly. "It's just the pot getting to me." She takes another hit from the pipe, releasing the smoke in a sigh.

And for a moment, Camila wonders. She wonders if maybe Lauren feels it too; this overwhelming uneasiness, resting beneath your wrists, your neck, your chest, your stomach. It's almost like adrenaline, but heavier, slower. And she can't seem to understand it.

Maybe the pot is getting to her, too.

The two girls stand there in silence, passing the pipe back and forth until there's nothing to see but smoke. After she takes the last hit, Lauren says:

"Do you ever wish you could go back to the start?"

Camila looks at her. "What do you mean?"

"You know," Lauren sighs. "Back when you were younger, before things changed."

And this is how Camila knows Lauren feels it too, because if she didn't, Lauren wouldn't know that things changed between childhood and now. She shares this confusion, this random uneasy feeling.

Camila nods.

"Yeah," She says. "Yeah, I do."

* * *

Camila is fourteen when she develops insomnia.

Shortly after smoking with Lauren, her mind begins to swell. For two weeks all she can think about is Lauren and how she looks when she smokes, so beautiful, and how her giggle sounds when she makes fun of her, how her lips are persistently chapped yet that doesn't stop Camila from wanting to-

She can't get these thoughts out of her head, especially at night. Currently, she hasn't slept in two days, and her heart feels like it's going to give out from all the caffeine she's consumed. The things she's thinking about, the way she's thinking about Lauren- It isn't healthy. It's wrong, and it's dangerous. She known this since she was five years old.

So she's seeing a therapist. Schools around the world offer free counseling for the reasons just exactly like Camila's own. The therapist will help her, maybe prescribe something so she can sleep. After this one session, she'll be okay again; normal.

"So you've been having thoughts, you say?"

Mrs. Hernandez is a short, tan, teen-adult of a woman. She has to be well into her twenties to work at such a job, yet at the same time she looks barely nineteen, with wide eyes that twinkle and a sharp jaw. She's wearing a black pantsuit, and through the top part Camila can see her bra, which is also black. Camila loses her train of thought.

"Camila?" Mrs. Hernandez leans over her clipboard, pen in hand.

Camila apologizes, and asks for the therapist to repeat.

"Yes," She answers. "I've been having, um," Camila gestures with her hands, opening her palms and waving them. "I've been having some weird feelings, I guess."

"Feelings of...?"

"I'm not exactly sure."

The therapist leans back in her chair. "Come on, Camila, this is a safe place." She crosses her legs, smiles. Her teeth are too white; familiar. "You can say it."

Camila takes a deep breath, and she feels that general uneasiness flood back to her. But this time it's different, this time it's actually uncomfortable and painful.

She says shakily, "I'm attracted to someone, more than I should be."

Mrs. Hernandez clicks her tongue, nods and scribbles something on her clipboard. Then she un-clips the paper, and hands it to Camila.

"Get this filled and take two whenever you're feeling...well, you know." She raises her brow. "Don't be afraid to take more if you really need it. This type of medicine can't kill you."

Camila takes the prescription and walks out. That night, before she attempts to sleep, she gets a text from Lauren.

It reads: "Where were you today in class? I didn't see you all day. I miss u :("

Camila doesn't respond. Instead, she takes four of her pills.

She sleeps soundly that night.

* * *

Lauren is fifteen when she learns the meaning of heartbreak.

Camila hasn't returned any of Lauren's calls, nor replied to any of her texts. She won't even look at her in class anymore, and each time Lauren tries to physically confront her she ducks her head down and removes herself from the situation as quickly as possible, whether that be running down the hall or going to the bathroom or the nurses office.

It kills Lauren inside. One second they were smoking pot and giggling and talking about the world, then the next they were strangers. Did Lauren do something wrong? Was she wrong to give Camila pot? Maybe it made her paranoid. Or maybe Lauren was wrong to question Camila when she reached over and combed back Lauren's hair for her. Or maybe it was something she said?

She has too many questions, and they make her head, along with her heart, ache. It's happening again. She developed something-feelings? attraction?-for Camila, and now she's losing her.

Maybe there's just something wrong with Lauren.

One night, she just can't take it anymore.

She rolls around in bed for roughly two hours before accepting her inability to sleep. It's 5 in the morning, and Lauren figures: what the hell?

And for whatever reason, Camila picks up.

"Heyyy!"

"Camila?"

"Lauren! How are you? I miss youu!"

Lauren sighs. Camila's obviously drunk, or even stoned for that matter. She's slurring her words, dragging them out like she's talking in slow-motion.

And Lauren's worried, because she knows Camila never drinks. Pot is acceptable, but alcohol is just too much for the girl. It disarms her senses too much, fades too much of her control over herself. If she wants to feel good, she'll smoke.

But she couldn't be high, could she? Lauren's the only one who sells pot at their school, and she certainly didn't sell any to Camila.

Lauren asks, "What's going on? Are you okay?

"I feel great." Camila giggles, and it's so out of place-so unfamiliar, it sends a chill down Lauren's back.

"Camz, I need you to listen to me, okay? What did you take?"

"Take? I didn't take anything, I swear! Don't accuse me of stealing, Lauren! It isn't nice."

Lauren sighs for a moment, rubbing her head as an attempt to prevent the oncoming migraine. It was silly of her to even think Camila would actually act logical enough to answer such a shameful question. Her heart beats faster.

"Are your parents home, Camila?"

"Nope," Camila giggles again. "They're working late again. Perks of having a government job, right? I'd love to work late into the morning, so I can see the sun-"

"I'm coming over," Lauren says, and her voice is as soft as defeat. "Make sure your door's unlocked,"

Lauren hangs up before Camila can respond, and she waits for a few moments before getting up from her bed. She sits quietly, with her shoulders slouched and head hung low. Then she grabs one of her pillows, rests it on her legs, and takes a deep breath.

She screams into the pillow for about a minute, then sighs and starts searching for her shoes.

* * *

Camila is fifteen when she learns the meaning of addiction.

The world's education system has never embraced the idea of what I'm sure you know in your world as sin. Alcohol, drugs, sex- any information warning against the engagement of such activities was nixed from the worldwide curriculum long ago, since no one really expected any millennial to develop the desire to do so. Vaccinations were in the process of being developed, ones that would defend against mental illness, too high or low of an IQ, and of course, love. The idea of harmful substances was erased from the world by the time people like Lauren and, unfortunately for her, Camila, were born.

The two girls are sitting on Camila's bed, both staring at each other with pointed looks. Camila is studying Lauren and Lauren is studying Camila, the former with hazy eyes and the latter sick with worry.

Camila looks terrible, and believe me when I say Lauren never thought the idea could be even remotely possible. But she's a mess; pale as paper; wearing tattered blue pajamas that barely fit her; eyes perpetually unfocused. The worst thing is that she keeps bouncing around, like she's silently humming along to a song in her head.

Lauren asks Camila what she took to make her like this, for the up tenth time of the hour.

Camila simply blurts out, "You're really pretty. Did you know that?"

Lauren sighs loudly. She's tried over fifty times to get Camila to give her some little hint as to what's intoxicated her so heavily, but the girl doesn't seem to be able to grasp the question.

Lauren wants to give up so badly. She wants to call Camila's dads, maybe call the police and ask for a mental health professional. She wants to leave Camila's childish actions to an adult to take care of.

But for whatever reason, Lauren can't seem to remove herself from Camila's bed. It's like something is binding her here, anchoring her to this spot right here, next to Camila, like how they used to be, always inseparable. She suddenly feels like she's going to cry.

"Camila," She speaks more slowly this time, looking deeply into the other girl's eyes. "You're clearly not okay. I know you, and you'd never get...drunk or...high or...whatever, alone. Tell me what's going on, please." She takes Camila's hand, and it is so small hanging onto Lauren's own. She cuts into Camila with her eyes. "Let me help you."

And suddenly, Camila's sober enough to comprehend what Lauren's asking of her. She looks from her and Lauren's knotted hands, to Lauren's eyes, to their hands and back again. She feels the uneasiness flooding into her, drowning each and every one of her organs, her throat. This is not normal, she can hear Mrs. Hernandez's voice echo in her head. This is wrong.

But this is Camila's breaking point. She cannot help the way she feels, and now she's discovered, neither can any drug.

"She told me the pills would make me stop thinking about you," Camila shrugs, not really looking at Lauren nor anything else. "But all they've done is make me numb."

Of course Lauren doesn't initially understand, so Camila just starts muttering; about how she couldn't stop thinking about Lauren; how it got so bad she couldn't sleep; how she went to a therapist, and how they prescribed her a random drug to help her.

"I took 8," Camila shrugs again. "The pills usually put me to sleep, but they weren't working."

Lauren can only stare at Camila. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hung open. It's clear her heart rate has sped up, because her shoulders are shrugging each time she inhales, and she's inhaling like crazy. Heat rushes to her face, and she isn't sure if she's sweating or if maybe she's crying.

And the feeling of uneasiness is there, too.

"Camila..." Lauren says. There is fear in her eyes, but there is a hint of something else there, too.

Camila immediately concludes she did something wrong. It's the pills making her even more crazy, she thinks. She didn't mean to say this, she didn't mean to act in such a bashful manner. "I'm sorry," She says, tearing her hand away from Lauren's. "I know I'm craz-"

And Lauren leans in.

And she presses her lips against Camila's own.

And she grabs a hold of Camila's hand again.

She doesn't know how she knows what this is-this kissing. She doesn't know how she knows how to act, how to communicate something physically when words don't comply.

But she knows it feels right, and as Camila leans back into Lauren, letting her eyes close, she realizes it feels right for her, too.

And maybe, even if the world is telling them the complete opposite-

Maybe this is right.


End file.
